


Stick Around

by Rainsong



Series: No Rest in This World [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders (Dragon Age) Positive, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Hawke (Dragon Age), Bisexual Male Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Custom Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Dragon Age II - Act 2, Elf-Blooded Hawke (Dragon Age), Enthusiastic Consent, Friends With Benefits Hawke/Varric, Getting Together, Hawke & Varric Tethras Friendship, Hawke Has ADHD, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Magical Safer Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Named Hawke (Dragon Age), Non-Consensual Kissing, Nonbinary Hawke (Dragon Age), Oral Sex, Other, POV Hawke (Dragon Age), POV Third Person Limited, Party, Past Tense, Post-Coital Cuddling, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Trans Male Character, Trans character by trans author, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Warrior Hawke (Dragon Age), Wingman Varric Tethras, not beta read we die like Hawkes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainsong/pseuds/Rainsong
Summary: Hawke's been in love with a supposed flight risk for three years. Finally, with some not-so-gentle nudging from Varric, he ditches his date with Seneschal Bran's son to do something about it.See story notes for details about trigger warnings.
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke, Minor or Background Relationship(s), anders/nonbinary hawke
Series: No Rest in This World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099796
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue: Who's Happy Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hawke's pronouns are he/him or they/them, and they identify somewhere between a trans man and agender.
> 
> I decided to get over myself and just post the damn porn. This is my first time writing smut with a transmasc character. I'm AFAB nonbinary myself, but I would really appreciate constructive criticism from actual transmasc people, if only to calm my anxiety about it. Feel free to message me privately, or anonymously on Tumblr (I'm @rainwolfheart), because I want to get it right! And if you're worried it'll trigger dysphoria, I totally understand skipping the smut as well. It's not everyone's cup of tea.
> 
> So far Chapter 5 is the smutty one, if you want to read up to the Chapter 4 fade to black and jump ahead to Chapter 6, or alternatively if you want to skip the plot and just read the porn. I don't judge!
> 
> The chapter titles are from "Stick" by Snail Mail. That song (especially the first verse) gives me so many Handers feels, I'd recommend giving it a listen before you read!
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** Explicit language, mildly dubious consent in the sense of angry/drunk kissing (Hawke/Anders), non-consensual kissing (Hawke/minor character), canon-typical violence, legal alcohol use, fantasy racial slurs, and anxiety (not a full panic attack).  
> Please check back as more chapters are posted, because there may be others; this fic will absolutely have a happy ending when I get to it, though!

The Hanged Man. Knees bumping under the table turn into thighs pressing against each other. Anders, leaning into Hawke’s shoulder at first as he laughs, but then his neck, his hair brushing Hawke’s ear. Hawke touches Anders’ thigh with his hand by accident, and Anders leans into him, so he does it again on purpose. Hawke loses track of his glass, and starts taking sips from Anders’ instead. He’s too drunk to notice it’s not alcoholic.  
_— I ought to get home.  
— Let me walk you._  
One hand on the filthy Lowtown wall, the other in Anders’ hair. Anders’ tongue in his mouth. Sweat and heat in the middle of Drakonis.  
_— Come inside._  
No answer. Hand under a shirt. Foreheads pressed together. Another kiss. Anders stands up straight, takes his hand. But at the corner, he flinches, turns away. Hawke can’t say anything.

* * *

Falling asleep on their feet. Can’t make it back to Lowtown. The one clean room in Fenris’ mansion. Argument over who gets the bed. Aveline wins. Argument over who gets the soft carpet. Hawke wins. Varric insists they can fit two people. They fit three.  
_— I’m cold.  
— C'mere._  
Too tired, too many people to do more. But Anders hasn’t slept this well in months.

* * *

 _— I can’t believe you let him go.  
— We can’t kill every templar we run into, Anders. Or is it Justice?  
— Does it matter?  
— It feels like one of them wants to kill me sometimes.  
— That’s not true._  
Flash of blue. Shoved against the wall. Eyes flickering, fiery.  
No resistance. Hawke swallows the fear, replaces it with something else.  
Lips crushing lips, can barely breathe.  
Pause. Step back. Hawke mirrors. Another step. Wipes the kaddis from his cheek.  
_— I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.  
— Do it again.  
— No._  
Gone.

* * *

Some Hightown tavern. They lost Isabela and Merrill an hour ago. Shadowed booth, legs entwined. Fenris is asleep on the other bench.  
_— I want to kiss you.  
— Okay._  
He hits his elbow on the sticky table. Heavy breathing.  
Fenris is gone and the oil lantern has gone out.  
_— Come home with me, Hawke.  
— I want to._  
They don’t have the chance. “Knife-ear,” bloody knuckles, broken glass, report to Aveline. Varric drags him home. The lump in his throat won’t go away for two days.

* * *

Varric’s room at the Hanged Man, but he’s already passed out by the bar. Back against the door. Teeth, skin, sweat. Anders’ hand between his legs, teasing him through the fabric. Not even trying to muffle the moans.  
Hawke knocks Anders’ staff out of its holster. He freezes.  
_— I have to go.  
— Why?  
— I shouldn’t do this.  
— Is it because of me?  
— No._  
Picks up the staff. Flashes blue. Walks away.

* * *

 _— I’m a flight risk.  
— That’s a lie.  
— You’ll get hurt.  
— It hurts not to.  
— Don’t do this to me._  
Barely a kiss, this time. Hawke slumps to the ground. Varric has to pick up the pieces.


	2. Did Things Work Out for You?

“Messere Cavin is here. Shall I let him in?” asked Bodahn.  
  
“Andraste’s ass, it’s quarter to five… Yes, let him in,” said Hawke. “I’ll be down in a minute.”  
  
Hawke braced himself against the vanity, staring at his warped reflection in the water basin. After the week he’d had, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight. Making small talk with the seneschal’s son, eating fancy soups, and not being able to get a word in edgewise to Varric? He’d rather relive last Thursday for a whole week. And last Thursday, he almost lost his leg.  
  
Dreading the small talk to come, he took his time to finish up. His hand hovered over the pot of kaddis longingly, but passed it over for the concealer his mother had bought him. If he was going to be dying inside as Cavin’s arm candy, he didn’t want to look like it. He dabbed it over the scar on his cheekbone and the pimples on his forehead, and got a little in his beard that he had to rub off. Realizing his beard was really scratchy, as well, he rubbed in a few drops of oil, and used the excess to smooth out his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn his hair down. It was getting too long. He wished he had had time to ask Merrill to cut it again, and briefly considered taking scissors to it, but decided to let it be. He washed his hands, pulled on the new jacket, and gave himself one last “you can do this” look in the mirror before opening the door.  
  
“Hello Edwin. You’re fashionably early, as always,” he said as he descended the stairs. Edwin Cavin was standing by the hearth, sipping water from a wine glass. Predictably, he was wearing a fine silk shirt with well-tailored slacks and coat, with one of those flat Orlesian hats that had become popular lately that Hawke couldn’t pronounce the name of. His ginger hair was perfectly tousled, but it also looked like it wouldn’t move in a hurricane.  
  
“Good evening, Serah Hawke. You look handsome, as well,” said Cavin. Hawke had to stop himself from grimacing.  
  
“Would you like tea, messeres? Or are you ready to depart?” asked Bodahn.  
  
“Has my mother left already?” asked Hawke.  
  
“Mistress Amell is still getting ready, but she insisted you go on ahead. I will be escorting her to the viscount’s estate,” said Bodahn.  
  
“Bodahn! I didn’t realize _you_ were her mysterious suitor!”  
  
“Oh, no, messere! I believe she is meeting a friend at the party. I myself am happily married.”  
  
“I’m just teasing,” said Hawke. “You know, I’ve still never met your wife. She’s welcome to stay here.”  
  
“I have told her as much, messere, but her mother won’t leave Denerim, and my dear wife won’t leave her mother’s side. She’s quite happy there, and I’m happy to be here with my boy. Perhaps someday I’ll return to Ferelden, once my debt is paid.”  
  
“You owe me nothing more, Bodahn. But do as you wish,” said Hawke, smiling.  
  
“Some tea would be lovely,” said Edwin.  
  
“Yes, right away, messere!” said Bodahn. “Please, make yourselves comfortable in the study.”  
  
“Follow me,” said Hawke, leading Edwin into the other room. He kept a comfortable distance, and made sure to sit in one of the armchairs rather than the loveseat. Edwin hesitated for a moment, before sitting in the loveseat next to Phoebe. The cat turned her head to him, and, unimpressed, looked back at Hawke. He tried to communicate his own displeasure.  
  
“It’s been some time since we last spoke. What have you been up to, Hamish?” asked Edwin.  
  
“Ah, same old. Doing the guard captain’s job for her, helping Varric edit his new serial, getting into fights with templars. The usual.”  
  
“I heard you’ve been playing diplomat with the Qunari,” said Edwin.  
  
“Yes, not willingly. The Arishok seems to think I’m the only human worth his time. Why he won’t deal with your father or the viscount is a mystery.”  
  
“It’s a shame, really. If we could send someone who had the training, we could solve this stalemate in an afternoon.”  
  
Hawke grit his teeth, trying to ignore the implication that he wasn’t competent. Thankfully, Bodahn arrived with a tea tray, distracting him.  
  
“Here is your tea, messeres. Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.  
  
“No, thank you,” said Hawke. He took his time serving himself to avoid further conversation. Finally, someone had to break the tension.  
  
“What about you?” asked Hawke. “Are you still doing that… Painting? Thing?”  
  
“Yes, I’ve been commissioned to paint portraits of the Montilyet family. I will be traveling to Antiva City next month.”  
  
“That’s great. Never been to Antiva.”  
  
“Would you like to come with me?” asked Edwin. “Antiva City seems like your kind of excitement. Assassins and pirates and the like. I find it dull, really, but perhaps with a companion…”  
  
“Are you serious?” asked Hawke. Edwin nodded. “I don’t know, Edwin…”  
  
“Think on it. Travel is a great way to get to know each other.”  
  
Hawke took a moment to stare at the fire and scream internally.

* * *

“Sebastian, please, don’t leave me alone with him,” said Hawke.  
  
“Serah Cavin isn’t that bad, Hawke. Ask him about his dogs. You like dogs,” said Sebastian.  
  
“He has already told me about every one of his dogs in excruciating detail. Including how he’s been negotiating to breed his favourite spaniel bitch with a Tevene spice merchant’s rare piebald stud.”  
  
Sebastian chuckled.  
  
“I think I saw Varric in the gardens. He’s better at small talk than I am,” he said.  
  
“He doesn’t have an entourage?”  
  
“Oh, of course, but I’m sure he’s trying to weasel out of them, too.”  
  
“Thanks. Enjoy the canapés,” said Hawk, patting Sebastian on the shoulder. Glancing around to make sure Edwin wasn’t nearby, he made a beeline for the gardens. Sebastian was right: Varric was standing by the fountain with a half-dozen people, some of them holding copies of his books. He looked tired.  
  
“Sorry, everyone, could I have a private word with Varric?” said Hawke.  
  
“Hawke! Of course. Please, give me a moment,” said Varric, pushing his way out of the circle to join him.  
  
“Kill me, Varric,” said Hawke, quietly.  
  
“Only if you kill me first,” grumbled Varric.  
  
“Is it too early to leave? How angry do you think Cavin would be if I left without saying goodbye?”  
  
“Angry? No. I think he would wander around like a puppy trying to find you until daddy sent him to bed,” said Varric. Hawke groaned.  
  
“Why did I listen to my mother? Why did I listen to _you_?”  
  
“Sorry, Hawke. I thought he would be more tolerable. Isn’t he your type?”  
  
“What on earth do you mean?”  
  
“You know. Tall, pale, human, bit broody, likes animals,” said Varric.  
  
“He’s shorter than me.”  
  
“But you don’t deny the other parts. Still hung up on Blondie, huh?”  
  
“You know…” said Hawke, picking at a callous on his hand. “I want to try. I know my mother means well. But I keep coming back to Anders.”  
  
“You gotta be your own man, Hawke. Tell your mother that if she wants you to settle down, it’s gotta be on your terms. She’ll come around.”  
  
“I don’t even know if… Anders keeps pulling away. I don’t know if there’s a way to make it work. Maybe I _should_ give up on him, move on.”  
  
“Hawke, the will-they-won’t-they is the best part of falling in love. Cherish this, but don’t let it simmer too long,” said Varric.  
  
“Hamish!” said a voice from across the garden. It was Edwin.  
  
“Shit,” said Hawke.  
  
“I was worried you’d left without saying goodbye!” said Edwin, approaching.  
  
“Actually, Cavin, we were just going to go look for you. Hawke and I have had a long week and were thinking of turning in early,” said Varric.  
  
“Oh,” said Edwin, sounding genuinely disappointed. “It’s barely past dinner time. You don’t want to stay for the masque?”  
  
“Oh, I wish I could, but I really… I’m feeling really tired. The wine and all,” said Hawke. “It’s been a lovely evening, Edwin.”  
  
“You’ll think about Antiva, right? I’d really like you to come.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” said Hawke. Varric gave him a curious look.  
  
“May I walk you to the gate?” asked Edwin, offering his arm.  
  
“Sure,” said Hawke.  
  
“You two go on ahead, I’ll catch up. Flora Harimann borrowed my pen and I gotta get it back,” said Varric. Hawke mouthed a curse at him. He looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with anyone else as Edwin meandered towards the gate.  
  
“Perhaps this is too bold of me,” started Edwin.  
  
“Perhaps, yes,” said Hawke, unable to bite his tongue.  
  
“But I’m quite fond of you, Hamish. I know we don’t see eye to eye on everything, but our parents seem to agree we would be a good match. For both our families. I... I don’t want to ask too much of you, but I wanted to let you know that I would certainly be open to an arrangement.”  
  
“Edwin, are you proposing marriage?” asked Hawke. He wished Varric had followed.  
  
“Not officially, no. That would be improper. I just wanted to say that I’m open to it. Another thing to think about. Perhaps after the trip to Antiva.”  
  
“Shit. Alright. I don’t want to lead you on, here, Edwin, you’re—”  
  
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. This is moving too quickly,” said Edwin.  
  
“No, it’s not that. I like you,” said Hawke, immediately regretting the lie, but feeling incredibly sorry for Edwin all of a sudden.  
  
“I like you as well. And if I’m being honest… It’s been a challenge to get my father to consider that I could be with a man. But with everything you’ve done for Kirkwall thus far, I think he’d have a hard time saying no to you.”  
  
“This is a lot, Edwin.”  
  
“I’m sorry. This was just meant to be a pleasant evening, and I’ve ruined it,” said Edwin.  
  
“No, no, it was nice. I just wasn’t expecting all this,” said Hawke.  
  
“Have you really enjoyed it?” asked Edwin. They had arrived at the gate, but he hadn’t let go of Hawke.  
  
“Yes, of course,” he lied. There was a long moment where Edwin stared at him, and Hawke had no idea what was going on behind his eyes—before his eyes were closing and he was reaching up to kiss him.  
  
Unsure what else to do, Hawke let him, and, out of courtesy and pity, kissed him back a little. For a moment, he wondered if he could do this. Edwin was dull and his quirks made Hawke want to tear out his hair, but perhaps he would grow on him… And he wasn’t bad-looking. Occasional glances at Edwin’s rear had been what kept him going for most of the evening. The way his face softened as he pulled away from the kiss actually made Hawke’s heart skip a beat, and he wondered if waking up to this wouldn’t be so bad. Cavin spent half the year abroad, anyway, Hawke could do as he pleased.  
  
But he wasn’t Anders.  
  
“You should come by for tea on Sunday,” said Edwin.  
  
“Sure. I’ll let you know,” said Hawke.  
  
“Get home safe,” said Edwin, giving him another kiss on the cheek. Finally, he slipped away, glancing back at Hawke with a smile before disappearing behind a hedge.  
  
“You all right, loverboy?” asked Varric.  
  
“Fuck. Did you see that?”  
  
“Just the necking. What’s up with Antiva?”  
  
Hawke took a deep breath.  
  
“He wants me to take a trip with him. And then marry him,” he said, holding the gate open for Varric.  
  
“When you said, ‘maybe I should move on,’ I didn’t think you meant this quickly,” said Varric.  
  
“I’m not doing it! _He_ kissed _me_! I was about to… Shit. He’s really keen on it. I didn’t know how to break it to him gently.”  
  
“Want to get a drink?” asked Varric.  
  
“Not right now. I could go for a walk, though,” said Hawke.  
  
“Long as you don’t mind me drinking,” said Varric, taking a swig from his flask.  
  
“What have you been up to, tonight? Other than signing autographs?”  
  
“I’m glad you asked!” said Varric. “I spent an hour talking to the Harimanns about Nevarran politics, and…”


	3. You'd Leave the Door Open

“You keep glancing towards Darktown,” said Varric. Hawke felt himself turn red. “Go to him, Hawke. Don’t let me hold you back.”  
  
“Will you come with me? Just for a bit.”  
  
“What? Afraid of getting mugged?”  
  
“More like afraid of throwing up wine and canapés in a sewer, then running home because I don’t have the balls to do it,” said Hawke.  
  
“Hawke, we both know you don’t have balls,” said Varric, giving him a pat on the back. “Come on. I’ll be your wingman.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
They turned down the next street towards Darktown. Hawke felt like his heart was going to burst and tear a hole in his new shirt.  
  
“Can I give you some advice, Hawke?” said Varric, offering his flask.  
  
“You’re going to give it to me anyway,” said Hawke, taking a swig.  
  
“You’ve been keeping your cards close to your chest for too long. Both of you. It’s time you started playing them.”  
  
“Why are all your metaphors related to gambling?”  
  
“Not all of them. Some of them are sexual innuendo. I’m serious, though. You gotta take a leap of faith at some point, or else you’ll keep driving yourself into the ground worrying about how he feels.”  
  
“But what if he doesn’t feel the same way?” whined Hawke. He knew he was acting like a teenager, but he was tipsy and upset.  
  
“Hawke, after running around with you for three years, I can safely say that Blondie stares at your ass more than I do, and it’s at my eye level.”  
  
“You stare at my arse?” asked Hawke.  
  
“You’re a handsome man, Hawke,” said Varric.  
  
“I know there’s attraction, with Anders. We’ve… You know. But I feel something more,” said Hawke.  
  
“Have you actually slept with him?” asked Varric.  
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Hawke, cheekily. “Varric, I’m pretty sure you’ve been present for every remotely intimate moment I’ve had with Anders.”  
  
“Shit, Hawke, you’ve both been pining for three years and you’re not even friends with benefits? You really haven’t been messing around with anyone?”  
  
“Other than you?”  
  
“If getting to third base with me is the most action you’ve had, I’ll take that as a no. Too busy pining?”  
  
“Too busy pining…” agreed Hawke.  
  
Varric sighed and took another sip from his flask. He stared ahead of them for a moment, thinking, as Hawke went through about twenty different emotional states beside him.  
  
“Promise me that you’ll either break his heart or sweep him off his feet tonight,” he said. Hawke didn’t reply. “Promise me, or I’m turning back and letting you throw up in the sewer,” insisted Varric.  
  
“I promise,” said Hawke.  
  
“Good. Need anything before you talk to him? Another drink? A bit of tongue?”  
  
“Varric!” said Hawke, shoving him. “Stop hitting on me, you’re confusing my feelings.”  
  
“Nah, don’t give up on Blondie for little ol’ me. I’m just teasing,” laughed Varric.  
  
“I know. Thank you,” said Hawke. “Maybe if my mother keeps insisting, I’ll marry you.”  
  
“Hey, offer’s always on the table. Strictly a business relationship, mind you.”  
  
“You _never_ mix business and pleasure,” said Hawke. Varric gave him a cheerful slap on the ass.  
  
“We’re almost there. Last chance to bail,” he said.  
  
“You just made me promise not to!”  
  
“You’re doing it?”  
  
“I’m doing it,” agreed Hawke, his heart in his throat.  
  
“Go get ‘em,” said Varric.  
  
Hawke took a deep breath, and continued around the corner on his own. He could see the lantern of Anders’ clinic across the way, still lit, though it was nearing ten o’clock. He took his time going up and down the stairways, going over every possible scenario.  
  
There was no one else inside. Anders was rooting around in the shelves at the back, where he kept his supplies.  
  
“Are you still open?” said Hawke, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
“Hawke! I was just closing up. I thought you were at the seneschal’s party tonight,” said Anders.  
  
“I left. The seneschal’s son unofficially proposed marriage to me, so I decided to end it on a high note.”  
  
“Really? What did you say?” asked Anders.  
  
“Told him I’d think about it, just to be nice. I didn’t have the courage to break his heart in front of everyone,” said Hawke.  
  
“Poor lad. Don’t string him along more than you need to,” warned Anders.  
  
“I feel bad about it,” said Hawke.  
  
“Why did you come here? Are you feeling alright?”  
  
“Just a little tipsy.”  
  
“It’s barely ten o’clock,” said Anders.  
  
“Can’t believe I got away this early. I wanted to see you,” said Hawke. Anders chuckled.  
  
“You had the ear of the viscount, the seneschal, and most of the nobles in Kirkwall, and you decided to help me sort bandages?”  
  
“Well, Varric was getting antsy, too. What are you doing, anyway?” asked Hawke. Anders clearly wasn’t sorting bandages at the moment. He came towards the door with a bowl and saucer.  
  
“Putting out milk. I miss having a cat around. But I think the refugees have scared them all off. Or maybe eaten them,” said Anders, setting the dishes just outside the door. He wiped his hands and looked back at Hawke.  
  
“You know, I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said. “You don’t need to stick your neck out for the mages here, but you have. You let those apostates from Starkhaven start over. Maybe they can be an example for the world.”  
  
“I’ve always had a thing for scrappy underdogs,” said Hawke. “Or cats,” he added, glancing at the milk. When he looked back at Anders, something passed between them. Hawke frowned a little, feeling Anders’ intense scrutiny.  
  
“I’ve tried to hold back,” said Anders. “You saw what I almost did to that girl. You’ve seen what I am. But I’m still a man. Don’t expect me to resist forever.”  
  
Hawke held his breath for a moment. He hadn’t expected this.  
  
“I don’t want you to resist,” he said, finally, breaking into a soft smile.  
  
Anders kissed him, pushing him back against the doorframe. Hawke kissed him back, not out of courtesy as he had done with Edwin, but out of longing. It was his turn to pour out his heart. He had made a promise.  
  
Anders breathed heavily against his cheek, and Hawke felt him pulling away again. It was always like this. They would kiss in alleyways and seedy taverns, fumbling and just trying to get something physical out of it, and then Anders would find an excuse to leave before things got too intense, leaving Hawke feeling empty and sad.  
  
But this time felt different. Hawke was (almost) sober, for one thing. And when Hawke tried to keep Anders from leaving, he gave in, holding him close.  
  
“If we could die tomorrow, I didn’t want it to be without doing that again,” said Anders, pressing his forehead to Hawke’s.  
  
“So, that’s it? Now you’re ready to die?” said Hawke, grinning. The sad look on Anders’ face made him drop the jokes. “Anders, I’m tired. When Edwin asked me to marry him tonight, all I could think about was you. Stop leaving.”  
  
“I thought with Justice… this part of me was over,” said Anders. “I can’t give you a normal life. If you’re with me, we’ll be hunted, hated. The whole world will be against us.” Hawke tightened his embrace and opened his mouth to speak, but Anders kept going. “If your door is open tonight, I will come to you. If not, I’ll know you took my warning at last.”  
  
“Come with me now,” said Hawke, desperate.  
  
“I can’t. I have a house call after I finish closing. Nora has a colicky baby, and I’m already running late.”  
  
“I’ll go with you, then.”  
  
“Go home. Sober up before you make this decision,” insisted Anders.  
  
“I’ll wait for you,” said Hawke. “Promise me you’ll come.”  
  
“I will,” said Anders.  
  
He hesitated, like he wanted to kiss Hawke again—Hawke certainly wanted to—but pulled away, headed for the back of the clinic. Hawke watched him go, and waited to see if he would look back, but he didn’t.  
  
Hawke walked away.


	4. Still Not Sure What That Means

The entrance to the estate’s cellar next to Anders’ clinic had been boarded up quickly after they moved in, but Hawke knew that some of the nails were loose. He had pried them open many times. There was a proper door a few yards in, anyway, and Hawke had the key to it, as did Anders.  
  
Up through the cellar, he pressed his ear to the door that led into the kitchen. There was soft clanging, like someone was doing the dishes. He sat with his head against the door, passing his lucky runestone from hand to hand as he waited for them to leave. Even if it was just Bodahn, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.  
  
Half an hour later, the dim candlelight that he could see under the door went out, and the kitchen fell silent. Hawke waited another five minutes before opening the door, just to be safe. He grabbed one of the clean cups and dipped it into the barrel of fresh water, hoping it would help him sober up. At this point, he was barely tipsy, and the adrenaline had taken over from the alcohol. He filled a pitcher with water and brought it with him. There were no lanterns in the main rooms, but the hearths were freshly lit, with fuel to last a few hours into the night. Otis was sound asleep in his usual spot, and Hawke was very careful to not wake him as he walked by. Phoebe’s green eyes watched him pass from the banister where she liked to lurk. He gave her a quick scratch, thinking of Anders and his saucers of milk.  
  
As soon as he had closed his door, Hawke stripped off the nice clothes and rubbed away the products on his face. He felt a little grimy, but it was too late to ask Sandal to draw him a bath. He did what he could with the water and a washcloth. He pulled his hair back to its usual bun. He shoved the clothes he had stripped off into a corner, and rooted in his wardrobe for several minutes, trying to decide what he should wear. Anders was coming. Or he had said he would.  
  
“Not too nice,” Hawke mumbled to himself. “But not like you’re about to go to sleep. Linen? Wool? Not silk. That’s too posh.”  
  
He finally settled on a reddish linen shirt and a brown cardigan over it, and comfortable trousers, the ones he would wear to run errands but wouldn’t feel self-conscious about wearing if he ran into the viscount. He changed his mind about his hair and let it down again, then tied it back up, thinking it would be sexier if Anders could do it himself. Looking at himself in the mirror, he was tempted to put on his usual kaddis, just to feel more like himself, but that wouldn’t be practical. He intended to do a lot of kissing tonight.  
  
After about a half hour of pacing and changing his mind about his appearance, Hawke remembered what Anders had said, and worried about what he meant by an open door. Should he leave the front door unlocked? The cellar door? His bedroom door? He settled on the cellar, and crept back down to the kitchen to unlock it. He left it open a crack as well, just in case.  
  
“Messere?” said a voice behind him, and Hawke leapt in fright.  
  
“Bodahn! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”  
  
“Deeply sorry, messere, I won’t do it again. I noticed you were back, and I was just wondering if there’s anything I can do for you before I go to bed. Your mother said not to wait up for her.”  
  
“No. Wait, yes. Could you put on a pot of tea? Something to calm my nerves?” he asked. He was perfectly capable of doing it himself, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him until then.  
  
“Of course, messere. I was just going to make some for myself, in fact. Would you like me to bring it to your room?”  
  
“I’ll take it, thank you. And leave this door open, tonight. I’m expecting someone. Don’t tell my mother.”  
  
“Of course not. Your secret is safe with me! Might I ask, will your guest be spending the night?”  
  
“I hope so,” said Hawke.  
  
“I will make sure Sandal doesn’t wake you, then, and I’ll prepare an extra portion at breakfast.”  
  
“Thank you, Bodahn. You’re a good friend,” said Hawke. Bodahn smiled, and hummed to himself as he prepared the things for tea. Hawke sat on the counter as he waited, glancing back and forth between the door and the runestone in his hand.  
  
“Here we go. A pot of calm!” said Bodahn, arranging Hawke’s favourite teapot and two cups on a tray. Just the smell of lavender and chamomile helped, as Hawke took the tray from him.  
  
“Thank you. Good night, Bodahn,” he said.  
  
“Good night, messere.”  
  
Hawke carried the tray back to his room, focusing all his energy on not spilling anything. Otis noticed him, this time, and gave a whine.  
  
“Not now, Otis,” he hissed. Otis huffed and settled back down. Phoebe was still watching from the banister like a gargoyle.  
  
Hawke put the tray on his bedside table. Then he changed his mind and moved it to the mantel, and poured himself a cup, then poured it back in because it wasn’t strong enough yet. He paced, waiting for it to steep and cool. He picked up the clothes he had shoved into the corner and shoved them into the bottom of the wardrobe, instead. As he paced, he noticed things slightly amiss in his room: an oil lamp that had burnt out, a painting that was slightly crooked, a wrinkled pillowcase. He adjusted some of them, then went back and messed them up again, not wanting to seem like things were too perfect. He finally convinced himself to sit on the edge of the bed and sip his tea, staring into the fire. This normally made him sleepy, but nothing seemed to stifle the nervous energy. He spilled some tea on the floor in surprise when the door opened without a sound. It was just Phoebe, pushing her way in to look for a snuggle. He let her rub against his legs and purr, but his heart wasn’t in it. She gave up and wandered away after a minute.  
  
He had gone through half the pot when he heard footsteps, like someone was coming up the stairs. Hawke bolted up and, thinking quickly, stood by the fire, arms crossed, like he hadn’t spent the last hour pacing and practically rocking back and forth. He looked at the door as it creaked open, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he saw that it was Anders. He closed the door gently behind him.  
  
“You’re here,” said Hawke, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”  
  
“Justice does not approve of my obsession with you,” said Anders. He smiled, and Hawke felt like he was about to ascend to the Maker’s side from that alone. “He believes you’re a distraction. It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree.”  
  
“If you hadn’t come, I’d be out looking for you,” said Hawke. Anders kept walking towards him, stopping a few feet away.  
  
“When I was in the Circle, love was only a game,” said Anders. He looked at the floor, like this was something shameful he had finally found the courage to admit. “It gave the templars too much power if there was something you couldn’t stand to lose. It would kill me to lose you.”  
  
Hawke took a step towards him, touching his arm, before Anders could say anything else.  
  
“This isn’t going to fix that,” he said.  
  
Anders took a step towards Hawke.  
  
“No Circle mage I know has ever dared to fall in love,” he said. He leaned in, now only an inch away from his face, brushing Hawke’s cheek with his hand. “This is the rule I will most cherish breaking.”  
  
Anders kissed him. Everything fell into place.


	5. Figures in the Dark

Hawke held onto him, still afraid he would slip away, but Anders kept kissing him, and he was smiling as he did it. Hawke pulled away from the kiss momentarily, but Anders didn’t leave then, either, and instead followed Hawke’s lead as he pulled him to the bed. They fell together, laughing, overwhelmed.  
  
“Tell me you won’t leave, tonight,” said Hawke, feeling his eyes water a little.  
  
“I won’t leave unless you tell me to,” said Anders.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
Hawke reached up to kiss him and pull him closer. He felt comfortably crushed by Anders on top of him. He only broke the bear hug and eased up on the kissing to start to remove Anders’ coat. It caught on his feet, and Anders had to fall back on his side to get rid of it. He kicked off his shoes at the same time. Hawke reached under Anders’ shirt, exploring. He was torn between taking his time, layer by layer, or instead getting it all off at once. They settled somewhere in-between, taking breaks from kissing to remove clothing but diving back in at full intensity. Hawke paid attention to Anders’ body language as he explored, taking his time getting to each new place so Anders had a chance to stop him, but he never did. Some things were vaguely familiar, the memories of his hands on Anders’ chest and Anders’ hands on his thighs hazy with alcohol, anger, or heartbreak. This time, Hawke knew he would remember it all. The anxiety and the tea had driven away the heaviest layer of drink, leaving him only tipsy and a little tired. And now that Anders was in his bed, very turned on.  
  
After a long while of kissing and quiet laughter, falling back together again and again with each layer removed, Hawke pulled a finally shirtless Anders into his own bare chest, and realized they were both down to their smallclothes. Or nearly—Hawke toed off his last sock, a little awkward with Anders’ legs intertwined with his.  
  
“Are we doing this tonight?” asked Anders, against his lips.  
  
“Do you want to wait?” asked Hawke.  
  
“No. I want this.”  
  
“So do I. But… Have you got a… I don’t—”  
  
“I’ve been a Warden for long enough to be sterile,” Anders reminded him. “And I know a few spells, if not.”  
  
“Right. Good. And I haven’t— It’s been a while. I think I’m clean,” said Hawke, gesturing vaguely to his crotch.  
  
“Me too,” said Anders, cracking a smile. “Wait, let me…” he said, taking both of Hawke’s hands in his. Anders’ hands glowed blue for a moment, and any lingering traces of griminess Hawke felt was gone, like he had just taken a bath.  
  
“You’ll have to teach me that trick,” said Hawke.  
  
“Next time,” agreed Anders. Hawke melted at the prospect of there being a next time.  
  
“Good. Good,” said Hawke. “Glad we had this talk.”  
  
Anders laughed and kissed him. He trailed a hand across Hawke’s chest, and let it linger on the front of his briefs. Hawke squirmed; Anders got the hint.  
  
“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against Hawke’s lips.  
  
“Touch me,” said Hawke. Anders obliged. With one hand, he tugged down the waistband of Hawke’s briefs, and brought his fingertips to Hawke’s cock, his touch light and cautious. He brushed downwards across his folds and further down. It was so light Hawke could barely feel it.  
  
“You don’t have to be _that_ gentle,” he said.  
  
Anders made another pass, focusing on Hawke’s cock and the area around it, and he certainly felt that. He was still cautious, not lingering in any one place, touching only with one or two fingertips, but at least there was some friction. Hawke leaned into the touch, urging him for more. He may have let a soft whine escape, and had a moment of self-consciousness about how needy he seemed. Anders didn’t seem to mind.  
  
“I admit I’m a little out of my element here,” he said, with a gentle kiss. “What do you want?”  
  
“Put _something_ inside me,” said Hawke, desperately. Anders smiled against his lips and obliged. With another gentle stroke around his cock and through his folds, he pressed a finger against Hawke’s opening and found little resistance. He pushed in further, and Hawke let himself go, wonderfully helpless and a little overwhelmed.  
  
“Another?” asked Anders, after a few strokes. Hawke gave an affirmative groan. Anders inserted another finger, still exploring Hawke’s body at a slow but steady pace. Not getting quite enough stimulation, Hawke brought his free hand to his cock, stroking it in rhythm with Anders.  
  
“Can I—” started Anders.  
  
“Maker, yes, you can do whatever you want to me,” said Hawke. “Just don’t stop.”  
  
“Tell me if I do something wrong,” insisted Anders. He kissed him and turned his hand slightly, fucking him with only one long finger as he tried to stimulate Hawke’s cock at the same time.  
  
It wasn’t quite right. Hawke made a face, and Anders froze.  
  
“Just a second,” said Hawke. He reached for the bedside table and fumbled through the drawer for the jar of lubricant. He offered it to Anders, who took some in his hand, but didn’t resume touching Hawke until he confirmed.  
  
“Keep going,” said Hawke. “It was good.”  
  
Anders picked back up, and it wasn’t the same as when Hawke did it himself, but the lube made it much better. Hawke buried his hand in Anders’ hair, kissing him as deeply as he could. His other hand slid down Anders’ back and around to the front, teasing his erection through the fabric, then under it. Anders slowed to a stop to let Hawke help him out of his smallclothes. He pushed Hawke back down to remove his last layer, and Hawke took a moment to enjoy the view. He had had glimpses of Anders’ body, during rare trips to the bathhouse, and many more times washing up in the sea while on the road, but this was different. It was intimate, and intentional, and vulnerable. He was allowed to look, allowed to want.  
  
Anders settled back into his position, stroking Hawke’s cock, and broke his train of thought.  
  
“Do you like to be penetrated?” asked Anders. Hawke gasped as he got it right, and it was a moment before he could reply.  
  
“Yeah. Not yet.”  
  
“Tell me when.”  
  
As much as he was enjoying the attention, Hawke wanted to get a turn. He pushed Anders over onto his back, and after a few quick kisses to his mouth, started kissing his way down his neck and chest. When he got to Anders’ hips, beard brushing the sensitive skin around his cock, Anders gasped and brought a hand to Hawke’s now-messy bun—not pushing him, but just holding, encouraging. Hawke purposefully didn’t touch Anders’ cock with his hands before he got there with his mouth. He forced himself to take his time, kissing Anders’ stomach and the area around it before making his way up the shaft, always gentle and teasing with his lips. Finally satisfied with his exploration, he took the head of Anders’ cock in his mouth. He let his lips linger before he took him a little deeper. Anders gave a gentle thrust into his mouth and let out a soft moan, which was all Hawke needed to really get him wet. He gave a few more experimental licks, then took Anders as deep as he was comfortable. He went back and forth a few times, figuring out what his limit was. But he wasn’t trying to get Anders to come just yet, and switched gears. He licked around Anders’ shaft, gently stroking the head with his hand.  
  
Anders’ hand in his hair tugged him upwards, and he met Hawke halfway, open-mouthed. Hawke kept stroking Anders’ cock, but focused on kissing and supporting himself with his free hand.  
  
Anders pulled Hawke’s hips forward so that he could reach his cock, and gave it a few strokes, then moved on to penetrate him with a finger again. Hawke lowered his hips to rub against Anders’ cock, teasing both of them with his hand. Anders inserted a second finger, and Hawke moaned, almost losing his balance. Anders took a pause from kissing his lips to kiss his cheek and ear. And then he gently bit the point of his ear..  
  
“I’m ready,” gasped Hawke.  
  
“How do you want me?” whispered Anders.  
  
“You’re in charge.”  
  
Anders smiled, and rolled Hawke over onto his back. As he adjusted his position and wedged a pillow under Hawke’s hips, Hawke took more lube and rubbed it onto Anders’ cock, just in case. For a moment, the anticipation alone seemed like enough to send Hawke over the edge. Anders took his time, kneeling between Hawke’s legs. He guided the head of his cock in, and waited for Hawke to catch his breath before continuing, inch by inch.  
  
“Good?” he asked.  
  
“Good,” said Hawke. “Come here.”  
  
He pulled Anders’ torso down to kiss him, and Anders grasped the base of his cock, trying to keep it inside Hawke as he repositioned himself. After a moment to settle, Anders pulled back to look at Hawke. He kept eye contact as he pulled out until just the head of his cock was inside, then slid back in his full length.  
  
“Fuck,” said Hawke, unable to otherwise verbalize his elation. He had definitely had this fantasy before, but always with a quiet ache—never this much joy. Never this real.  
  
Anders smiled and kissed him, removing the need for any more talking. He kept thrusting slowly, following Hawke’s cues for when to speed up. Hawke reached down to stroke his own cock in rhythm with Anders, now getting some stimulation from Anders’ thrusts. He buried his other hand in Anders’ hair. His hair tie was barely holding on, so Hawke pulled it out and tossed it vaguely in the direction of where they had left their clothes. Anders smiled against his lips as some of his hair fell forward. Hawke pushed it back and kept his hand in Anders’ hair. The other squeezed Anders’ ass, urging him to go a little faster, a little harder.  
  
_There._ Hawke tightened his grip on Anders’ hair and squeezed his legs against his hips. Breathing heavily, Anders broke the kiss to keep his rhythm steady. Hawke felt vulnerable as he felt an orgasm coming. His instinct was to bury his face in Anders’ chest, but something compelled him not to look away.  
  
Anders was glowing—not the blue glow when Justice interrupted, but a warm glow from the firelight. He met Hawke’s gaze and smiled.  
  
It would be too poetic to say that _that_ was what pushed Hawke over the edge, but whatever Anders was doing with his cock happened damn near simultaneously. No words came out of Hawke, just moans, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead to Anders’.  
  
Anders kept going as Hawke peaked and came down, and just as it was starting to be a bit much for Hawke, Anders came too, and Hawke let him ride it out, stifling his moans with hard kisses. The rhythm faltered, and Anders spilled himself and slowed to a stop. Although the penetration was getting uncomfortable, Hawke immediately missed the feeling of fullness as Anders pulled out. If he wasn’t already so tired, he could probably go for a second orgasm.  
  
“Anders. Fuck…” said Hawke, rolling onto his side. Anders settled next to him, face to face, holding him close, his softening cock against Hawke’s thigh.  
  
“Was it good?” asked Anders. Hawke laughed.  
  
“Yeah. It was great.”  
  
“Good,” said Anders. He kissed Hawke’s forehead.  
  
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” said Hawke, running his fingers down Anders’ back. He only just noticed how sweaty they were.  
  
“We’ve got some lost time to make up,” said Anders.  
  
“I’ll hold you to that. No more leaving me hanging.”  
  
“It wasn’t always my fault,” protested Anders.  
  
“I’m sorry about the time I punched a man and Aveline sent us home.”  
  
“You were right to be angry with him.”  
  
“Shouldn’t have listened to Aveline, though,” said Hawke.  
  
“You never listen to Aveline, anyway,” said Anders, kissing his forehead again.  
  
After a moment of silent cuddling, Hawke spoke again.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Is it true what they say about Grey Wardens?”  
  
“What do they say about Grey Wardens?” asked Anders, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“That they can keep going for hours.”  
  
“Are you asking because you want to go again?”  
  
“No,” said Hawke, snuggling into his chest. “Too tired tonight. Just wondering. If I need to block out the rest of my schedule next time, I mean.”  
  
“I’d like to have you to myself all night,” said Anders.  
  
“Hot,” mumbled Hawke.  
  
He felt like he could fall asleep in Anders’ arms, thinking about what “next time” could entail, but just a few minutes later, the sticky, damp feeling had really settled in, and he was too uncomfortable to sleep. He groaned.  
  
“I should wash up,” he said.  
  
“Yeah. I’m getting cold,” said Anders. He held Hawke for a moment longer, but then they both got up, with one last kiss on the edge of the bed before Hawke walked over to the washbasin.  
  
A few minutes later, Hawke was somewhat clean and wearing the comfiest clothes he could find on the floor. He stood by the fire a moment, enjoying the afterglow and the quiet presence of Anders in his room, anxious to get to sleep beside him. There was still a quiet worry that Anders would leave, but the afterglow was strong enough to push it back, for now. He looked back at Anders, who was half-dressed and looking a little overwhelmed.  
  
“Are you okay?” asked Hawke. Anders stood and joined him, wrapping his arms around his waist.  
  
“I love you,” said Anders. “I’ve been holding back from saying that. You should have a normal life, not be tied down to a fugitive with no future. But I don’t ever want to leave you.”  
  
Hawke felt slightly teary again.  
  
“Don’t ever leave,” he said.  
  
“Do you mean that? Would you have me here, living with you? Would you tell the world, the knight-commander, that you love an apostate and you will stand beside him?” said Anders.  
  
“I want you right here. Until the day we die,” said Hawke.  
  
Anders smiled.  
  
“For three years, I have lain awake every night, aching for you. I’m still terrified I’ll wake up.”  
  
He kissed Hawke, much softer than before.  
  
“All those times in the Hanged Man…” said Hawke, voice breaking a little, touching foreheads.  
  
“I’m sorry. I was so afraid.”  
  
“I’ve wanted you since we met, Anders. Stop running away.”  
  
“I’ve always been a flight risk.”  
  
“You’ve stayed this long. I’ll take that risk. Stay with me.”  
  
“Come to bed.”  
  
Hawke went, gladly.


	6. Would They Stick Around

“Good morning,” said Anders. Hawke turned their head, and blinked a few times to confirm that Anders really was there. Phoebe was lying on his chest, purring loudly and kneading the blanket. She glanced at Hawke, as if to ask if they had a problem with it, without waiting for an answer, and went right back to nuzzling Anders’ chest.  
  
“She’s never done that to anyone but me,” said Hawke, amazed.  
  
“She’s been at it for a while. I’m surprised she didn’t wake you.”  
  
“Oh no…” said Hawke. They rolled away from Anders for a moment.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re using me for my cat, aren’t you?”  
  
Anders chuckled, reaching for Hawke’s hand under the covers.  
  
“I’m perfectly capable of stealing your cat without sleeping with you,” he said.  
  
“Using me for my body, too, then?” said Hawke, dramatically. Anders laughed. Hawke shifted closer and onto their side, leg over Anders’ hip, and kissed his shoulder.  
  
“How long have you been up?” they asked.  
  
“About an hour,” said Anders. “I take it you’re not a morning person.”  
  
“Is that a deal breaker?” asked Hawke.  
  
“Almost. I can manage,” teased Anders. “What do you usually do in the mornings? Is your mother around?”  
  
“Yes. She usually goes for a walk after lunch. If you want to hide in here, I can ask Bodahn to bring us some breakfast.”  
  
“Do we have to hide?” asked Anders. Hawke gave a soft laugh.  
  
“No, but it might be a bit of a shock. I’ll have to break it to her gently if you’re going to be around more. Which, for the record, I want you to be around more.”  
  
Anders turned to kiss Hawke’s forehead.  
  
“Let’s hide, then. For today.”  
  
Hawke nodded, snuggling into Anders’ side.  
  
“I love you,” said Hawke, after a moment. “I meant to say it back, last night.”  
  
“I love you, too,” said Anders. Phoebe squinted at them for a moment, and Hawke wondered if she was perhaps confused about who she was sitting on. In any case, she continued on, her purring mixing with Anders’ breathing in a way that made Hawke too content to consider leaving the bed.  
  
They must have dozed off, because the next thing they were aware of was Anders nudging them, and the room was much brighter.  
  
“I’m hungry,” said Anders.  
  
“What time is it?” asked Hawke.  
  
“Nearly noon, I think.”  
  
Hawke groaned into Anders’ arm, took a deep breath, and… Another. And then they forced themself to leave the warm bed. Phoebe was sitting on the chair where they had vaguely tossed their clothes the previous night, feet tucked under her body. Hawke pulled on the same trousers (gently tugging them out from under Phoebe) but took a clean jumper from the wardrobe.  
  
“Be back soon,” they said.  
  
“Mmhm,” said Anders, sitting on the edge of the bed and paying more attention to the cat. Hawke smiled, and slipped out of the room. The house was bright, and Bodahn was folding laundry on the table next to the fireplace.  
  
“Good morning, messere!” he said. “Would you care for some breakfast?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“And, ah, for your guest?” asked Bodahn, quieter.  
  
“Yes. Oh! He likes raspberry jam, do we have any?”  
  
“Yes, I believe we do. I’ll tell Sandal to leave it all by the door.”  
  
“Let me know when my mother leaves for her walk.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Hawke stepped into the study. Their mother was taking her tea and replying to her mail, as usual.  
  
“Morning,” they said, swiping a biscuit from her tea tray. She looked up and gave them a quick smile.  
  
“Good morning, dear. What are your plans for today?”  
  
“Not much. Merrill invited a few of us for dinner, so I’ll probably be back late tonight.”  
  
“Lovely. How was your evening? I didn’t see much of you at the party.”  
  
“Yeah. I left a bit early,” said Hawke. “Wasn’t feeling great.”  
  
“Oh, that’s a shame. The seneschal’s manservant stopped by about an hour ago to remind us that we’re invited to tea tomorrow. It seems like you and Edwin had a nice night, all the same?”  
  
“Oh, ah, yes,” said Hawke. If their mother hadn’t reminded them, they may have forgotten about Edwin and the invitation entirely. “Mother, I’m not sure we should go.”  
  
“Why not?” asked their mother, sitting up straight. She had that look when she was preparing to be angry—whether with Hawke or with someone else remained to be seen. Anxiety bubbled in Hawke’s chest.  
  
“Edwin thinks… I may have miscommunicated last night that I was more interested in him than I really am. He brought up the topic of travelling together, and of marriage, and I was overwhelmed.”  
  
“Marriage?” said Leandra, eyes wide. “Hamish, are you sure you don’t want to think about this before refusing?”  
  
Hawke shook their head. “I don’t love him,” they said, voice small.  
  
Leandra sighed. “I shan’t be a hypocrite,” she said. “You’re more like me than I realize, sometimes.”  
  
“Can we cancel, then?” asked Hawke. Leandra shot them a glare.  
  
“No. We’re going to tea tomorrow, and you’re going to explain it to him directly. There is a minimum of social convention to respect, Hamish. And I expect you to dress properly. No war paint.”  
  
Hawke had to resist the urge to roll their eyes.  
  
“Okay,” they said. “I’ll go to tea.”  
  
“Good,” said Leandra. She turned back to her desk. Hawke sighed and left her to her work. Sandal and Otis had made their way into the parlour, and Hawke stopped for a moment to give Otis a few belly rubs.  
  
Anders was mostly dressed and making the bed when Hawke returned.  
  
“Breakfast should be here soon,” said Hawke. “You know, if you make my bed, Sandal will know something’s up.”  
  
“You can mess it up again, then,” said Anders.  
  
“Sounds fun,” said Hawke, stepping over to Anders and pulling him close. Anders smiled and kissed them. After a moment, Hawke sank onto the bed and pulled Anders into their lap. They were close enough in height that it wasn’t a great angle for their necks, so it didn’t last long. One good thing about Anders being a morning person: it meant he had the energy to be on top while kissing. Before things could get anymore serious, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.  
  
“Breakfast!” said Sandal, muffled.  
  
“Coming,” said Hawke. Anders gave a whine and kissed them again.  
  
“Thought you were hungry,” said Hawke. “Or was that a euphemism?”  
  
Anders begrudgingly let Hawke stand up and fetch the breakfast tray. They sat back on the bed, tray between them. As promised, there was toast with butter and raspberry jam, porridge with hazelnuts, two soft-boiled eggs, an apple cut in two, and a steaming pot of Nevarran breakfast tea with two cups.  
  
“Are you going to go back to the clinic this afternoon?” asked Hawke, as they buttered a slice of toast. Anders nodded.  
  
“Saturdays are my follow-ups,” he said, mouth half-full of porridge.  
  
“Right. Need a hand, today?”  
  
“You don’t have plans?” asked Anders.  
  
“Not until dinner,” said Hawke.  
  
“Could use another pair of hands, then. As long as you promise not to be a distraction.”  
  
“When am I ever a distraction?” said Hawke, wryly. Anders narrowed his eyes in feigned annoyance. Hawke grinned and leaned over the tray to kiss him.

* * *

Dinner at Merrill’s house was a nice change of pace from their usual tavern fare, and far more pleasant than Hightown parties. This time, she had tried a new recipe for roasted summer squash with Rivaini-style seasoning, along with her nearly perfected lentil curry and a salad of the season’s last fresh greens. Fenris had brought a fancy Tevene white wine, which led to a half-hour conversation about who could bullshit about wine the best. Varric won, surprising no one.  
  
When Hawke rejoined the table after helping Merrill get the tea, they grabbed the back of Anders’ chair for balance, and let their arm linger there. Not touching him, but almost. Anders squeezed their knee under the table, giving them a nervous smile as everyone was distracted. They had discussed it during the walk over and agreed that neither could keep it a secret for very long; may as well be upfront with their friends.  
  
“Oh, goodness! I completely forgot to ask you when you arrived, Hawke. And Varric! How was the party last night?” asked Merrill. Varric caught Hawke’s eye and raised an eyebrow.  
  
“It was all right,” said Hawke. “Well, really, it was awful, but we got away early.”  
  
“Not early enough,” said Varric.  
  
“What do you mean?” asked Merrill.  
  
“Edwin Cavin sort of proposed to me,” said Hawke, with a straight face. Isabela immediately snorted, and Hawke cracked a smile. Soon, they were all laughing.  
  
“Did he get down on one knee and everything?” asked Merrill.  
  
“No, thank the Maker,” said Hawke. “It wasn’t official.”  
  
“You turned him down, though, right?” said Merrill.  
  
Hawke winced and shook their head. “I have to do it tomorrow.”  
  
Isabela smacked their arm with the back of her hand. “You have to reject them right away, or they’ll never stop hounding you!” she scolded.  
  
“Lesson learned!” said Hawke, raising their free hand defensively.  
  
“Hopefully, you won’t have to worry about this again. Once we’ve cleared it up,” said Anders. Hawke laughed and nodded. Everyone else gave them blank looks. Hawke coughed and glanced around the table, settling their gaze on the teapot.  
  
“I— We wanted to tell you all tonight, actually. Anders and I are together,” they said, imagining for a moment that only the teapot could hear them. The silence continued.  
  
“Alright, everyone owes Rivaini since it’s before the end of the year,” said Varric. “But Aveline owes me, too, because we’re not at the Hanged Man. Don’t let me forget!”  
  
“Kitten, I owe you for lunch last week, so we’re even,” said Isabela.  
  
“Do you have change for a sovereign, Varric?” asked Fenris.  
  
Anders sank into Hawke’s shoulder, shaking with laughter, and Hawke ran a hand through his hair. It felt nice to do it openly. Their friends bickered over their bets for a few moments, and Hawke wondered if Sebastian was right that their group had a gambling problem, but finally Hawke felt four pairs of eyes back on them and Anders.  
  
“I’m _so_ happy for you two,” said Merrill, grinning.  
  
“How long have you been betting on us?” asked Hawke.  
  
Isabela counted on her fingers for a moment.  
  
“Two years and a bit,” she said. “Which reminds me: how long has it been official? Because if it’s been less than a day, Aveline owes me a silver.”  
  
Hawke blushed and looked down.  
  
“Then Aveline owes you a silver,” said Anders. He took a sip of his tea.  
  
“Hawke, I’ll admit it: I’m surprised,” said Varric. “Thought you would chicken out.”  
  
“Even after your inspiring pep talk last night?” asked Hawke.  
  
“Wait, Varric knew already? That’s not fair!” said Isabela. Varric held up his hands.  
  
“I didn’t know shit. I may have pushed Hawke in the right direction, that’s all.”  
  
“‘Pushed’ is a mild way to put it. I would have said, ‘kicked in the shins,’” teased Hawke.  
  
“Not like he can reach any higher,” said Anders.  
  
Varric sneered.  
  
“Was this before or after the proposal?” asked Fenris.  
  
“After,” said Hawke.  
  
Fenris gave a short chuckle for reasons he didn’t share.  
  
“Next thing you know, you’ll be the one proposing,” said Isabela. “And then you’ll be those boring people with babies who don’t drink anymore.” Despite her tone, she was smiling. Hawke felt their eyes grow wide for a moment.  
  
“Not there yet,” they said. “Just… Living together, for now.”  
  
“You’d make _adorable_ babies,” cooed Merrill. “Little quarter-elf mages!”  
  
“Ugh,” said Fenris.  
  
“We’re not talking about this,” said Anders. After a moment, he looked back at Merrill. “That reminds me, though: how is Camris’ daughter doing? They haven’t been back to the clinic.”  
  
“Oh, she’s doing wonderful! She bit my finger the other day!”  
  
Hawke smiled, and let themself tune out the conversation for a moment. Anders pressed against their side, a good meal, a hot cup of tea, and no imminent threat looming over their heads… Today was the first day in weeks where Hawke’s mind was able to focus on the present, and it felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The betting scene is lovingly inspired by _Check, Please!_ 3.11 and 3.12. Eating with friends is possibly what I miss the most about the pre-pandemic life, so for now I'm living it vicariously though fiction.


End file.
